


The Paths We Travel

by llyrical



Series: You & You & Me [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Dipper plays matchmaker, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, M/M, Nightmares, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyrical/pseuds/llyrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d first had the conversation a few months before in which they’d decided that they would, in Wirt’s words, “cross that bridge when they got to it.” </p><p>Now, in a tense room with Dipper wedged in between Wirt and somebody who was an actual, literal <i>demon</i>, it seemed that they’d officially “gotten to it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paths We Travel

**Author's Note:**

> This started as what was supposed to be a drabble and somehow developed into a thirty-seven page nightmare. 
> 
> This'll probably be the first part of a series. I'm a sucker for these dorks. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr (pokespec) for an abundance of headcanons!

They’d first had the conversation a few months before in which they’d decided that they would, in Wirt’s words, “cross that bridge when they got to it.” 

Now, in a tense room with Dipper wedged in between Wirt and somebody who was an actual, literal _demon_ , it seemed that they’d officially “gotten to it.”

Wirt remembered the first conversation well; it’d been over two years since he’d first come to Gravity Falls in search of answers about what had happened to him at age fifteen, meaning that it’d been over two years since he’d first met Dipper Pines, mystery hunter extraordinaire. He’d tracked Dipper down based on rumors from a kitschy paranormal forum that claimed him to be the guy to go to about all things supernatural. Never in a million years had he anticipated that Dipper would _actually_ be able to help him. 

And never in a _billion_ years had he anticipated himself falling in love with the man who had quickly become his best friend. 

For once, it was glaringly obvious to Wirt that his crush returned his affections. He’d have to be blind not to notice, and he certainly didn’t need Mabel to point it out to him, though she did so anyways. For a year, there were stolen touches, flirtatious comments that had an unspoken, _’I’m only joking if you’re joking,’_ attached to the end. 

By the time they finally managed to confess to one another, practically the whole town knew that they were, unofficially, a “thing.”

But it hadn’t all been so perfect. 

“ _I like you,_ ” Dipper had said, and Wirt’s heart had soared, but then he continued, “ _But…_ ”

“ _But_...?” Wirt had prompted, heart plummeting into his stomach. 

“ _But I…_ ” Dipper had pushed his hands through his hair nervously, knocking off his hat in the process. Wirt had picked it up and held it in his own lap so that the other man couldn’t put it back on simply to hide his face. Wirt wouldn’t let him run from this one. “ _But I think I might also have feelings for Bill._ ”

Wirt knew Bill Cipher all too well. Bill was the demon who Dipper was bound to, a deal made at age eighteen when Dipper was filled with a desperation for knowledge and the drive to follow in his great uncle’s footsteps. They’d had a rocky past, Wirt had heard, but in the six years that had passed since they’d made the deal, their master/apprentice relationship had budded into a friendship. 

And then into something more, apparently. 

Wirt had tried not to let his hurt show. “ _Oh,_ ” he’d said, immediately giving up hope.

Dipper had seen the look on his face and panicked, waving his hands frantically. “ _No, no!_ ” he’d assured him, “ _I… That doesn’t change my feelings for you, Wirt. Not one bit. You mean the world to me. I just… wanted you to know. That I might… y’know._

And that was when they’d decided to put it off until it was enough of an issue to properly address. With that decision, though, they’d also agreed not to officially date. Not yet, anyways. 

But the lack of title hadn’t stopped them from getting closer. Wirt was suddenly spending more nights over at the Mystery Shack, sleeping in Dipper’s bed and stealing kisses and whispering poetry until they both drifted off to sleep. 

A few weeks after his conversation with Dipper, it became clear that his not-boyfriend had had the same- or at the very least, a similar- conversation with Bill. 

Wirt started to see the demon more and more often. He knew from Dipper that Bill was, apparently, _always_ watching (which unsettled him much more than it seemed to Dipper), but the demon had recently started to make more and more appearances around the Shack. He would show up when Wirt was working the gift shop counter while Dipper was out on a tour, carrying himself with even more of an air of confidence than usual. 

It made Wirt nauseous to think that that was as a result of Dipper confessing his feelings for him.

“ _Music Note,_ ” Bill had acknowledged with a slight nod. That’d been the extent of their conversation before Bill had turned his attention to the rack of snow globes as if they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen, picking each one up and examining it individually. With each movement of his gloved fingers, a soft sound as the snow globe was picked up and then a slightly louder one as it was set back down, Wirt flinched. It was too quiet in the shop, and there was nothing to look at other than the demon. 

Wirt knew that Bill was possessive over Dipper. He’d seen it firsthand back in the fall when Dipper had been attacked by a vampire when he was out in the woods, getting horribly wounded and just barely escaping becoming an immortal beast himself. 

He didn’t see the carnage himself, but he knew that the vampire didn’t live for much longer after that. Bill had come into the house while Wirt and Mabel were caring for the bedridden Dipper, his vest stained to the point that it was more red than yellow. Dipper hadn’t asked, just let his mouth part in surprise. Bill had brushed past them all to get cleaned up, and as far as Wirt knew, the topic had never been brought up again. 

He knew that he probably had to have a death wish to be pursuing somebody that a demon had already laid his sights on, but if anybody was worth dying for, it was Dipper Pines. 

Some crazy part of him told him that he needed to stand up to Bill, show that he wasn’t intimidated and that he wasn’t backing down. This part was, most likely, the part that would eventually get him torn to shreds. 

So he decided that he was going to court Dipper. This was slightly ridiculous, as he and Dipper had already confirmed that they had mutual feelings for each other, but this was about more than that. This was about showing Bill that he didn’t _care_ if there was a chance he’d lose Dipper to him; Dipper was worth that chance. 

He’d told the demon as much, one night when they were all in the same place, sprawled out throughout the living room for one of Dipper’s horror movie marathons. Mabel and Pacifica had already left to go back to their own apartment, and Dipper had gone to the bathroom. 

“ _I’m not backing down,_ ” he’d said quietly to Bill before he could lose the nerve.

The blonde had snapped his head over to look at Wirt in shock, probably surprised that Wirt had actually had the gall to speak directly to him on his own. “ _Come again?_ ” he’d asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

Wirt swallowed. Somehow, the demon seemed even more threatening in the red light cast from the TV, image frozen on the blood-splattered menu of some cheesy slasher film. 

“ _With Dipper_ ,” he’d reaffirmed. “ _I know you like him too. And I don’t care._ ” 

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. It was terrifyingly similar to his confrontation with the Beast, and shockingly as dangerous. In this case, it was his lovelife on the line rather than his brother’s _actual_ life, but an unspoken danger hung over him all the same. 

Bill had stared him down for a long, tense moment. When it broke, he filled the silence with a hearty laugh. “ _Nice to see you have guts for once, kid,_ ” he’d laughed, mock-wiping a tear from his eye. “ _It’s refreshing. Cute, even._ ” When his gaze returned to Wirt, his eyes flared red, perfectly fitting the fanged grin glinting in the TV’s light. “ _I’ll take your challenge, Music Note. But know that your confidence is going to be the thing to get you killed. You decide if that’s gonna be at twenty-five or eighty-five!_ ”

Wirt had paled at the threat, but Bill vanished before he could say anything else. 

Dipper had returned shortly after that, sleepy and in search of lazy cuddles. He’d asked where Bill was, and when Wirt didn’t have an answer for him, he shrugged it off and crawled into his not-boyfriend’s arms to watch the next movie. 

Bill had gone quietly, but he made it no secret that he was accepting Wirt’s challenge. 

The next time that Wirt had slept over at the Shack, he and Dipper had woken up to an entire _flock_ of dead doves on the front lawn. It could have just been some horrifying coincidence, except that each one of the poor birds had had their hearts ripped from them, viscera lying scattered around them on the grass. 

It was obviously Bill’s way of showing- what, exactly? Love? Affection, at the very least. And, shockingly enough, Dipper seemed to realize this quickly. Once he was past the overall shock of the carnage along with the sighed, “ _Someone’s gotta clean this up before the tourists get here,_ ” he actually seemed a bit… touched. Wirt wasn’t sure whether he should be upset that he was already losing at this courting game or horrified that Dipper, somehow, seemed to accept dead doves as a perfectly reasonable mating gift. 

Wirt just knew that he had to step up his own game. 

He knew that Dipper appreciated romantic gestures. The other man had told him as much, as well as confessing that he himself wasn’t the best at coming up with them. Fortunately for him, Wirt _was_. 

He started writing poetry about Dipper- okay, well, he _always_ wrote poetry about Dipper, but now he started leaving them in places where the other man would find them. He’d tuck a poem into the book he was reading, but further towards the back between pages he hadn’t made it to yet. He’d leave one folded underneath the mug that Dipper always reached for in the cabinet each morning when he made his coffee. He’d tape one to the bathroom mirror while Dipper took his morning shower, and then leave the house so he wouldn’t be there when the man found it. 

Dipper only asked him about them once, when he found the first one. Wirt had considered playing coy, feigning as though he had no idea where they came from, but he’d had a brief anxious worry that Dipper would think they were from Bill (though Wirt had never heard the demon say anything that wasn’t just overly loud and obnoxious). So he’d confirmed that, yes, he’d been the one to leave it, and Dipper had jumped on him, kissing him until his head spun. 

After that, Dipper didn’t comment on them, but he’d shoot Wirt shy, happy smiles whenever he found a new one. 

Wirt thought he was doing well, winning Dipper over, but after a week, it became clear that this wasn’t entirely the case. 

He had come into the Shack to work on a morning when he hadn’t previously spent the night there, his high spirits dying down twenty minutes into work when he leaned over Dipper to grab something and spotted the obvious hickey on the man’s neck. It was red and angry, just barely concealed beneath the man’s collar- it was obviously recent, and Wirt sure as hell hadn’t left it there. 

He had tried not to let himself be hurt. He and Dipper weren’t dating, and that was specifically because Dipper didn’t want to be exclusive. Dipper had every right to- to make out with whoever he wanted. Even if that someone was a certain demon who Wirt didn’t trust at all. 

But he’d hated the idea that Bill spent the nights here when Wirt didn’t. Especially because he knew that Bill was a dream demon, that he could influence Dipper’s dreams and follow him into his sleep and bond with him in ways that Wirt couldn’t even begin to imagine. Dipper’s _soul_ was bound to Bill, and somehow Wirt still thought that he had a chance winning Dipper over Bill. 

But he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.

He made Dipper a mixed playlist- on a CD, this time, as he’d realized his mistake of assuming that everybody kept a tape player around- and filled it with a mixture of swingstep and eighties’ pop hits, Dipper’s two guilty pleasures. Instead of leaving it somewhere for him to find, he simply put it into the CD player in Dipper’s car one morning, tucking the handmade case into the glove compartment for him to find if he ever thought to look for it. 

In retaliation, Bill brought Dipper a spellbook from the Library of Alexandria. Of course. 

For the next three months, each one of his courting tactics was met with a one-up from Bill. He would bring Dipper flowers, and Bill would bring him a plant with magical healing abilities. He took Dipper out to dinner, and Bill took him to another dimension to hunt for pixies. He would cuddle Dipper to sleep, and Bill would stop his nightmares. 

It was obvious that Bill was winning and it was driving Wirt _insane_.

But it was only a matter of time before Dipper realized just what was going on. He was a smart guy, and when two jealous people (okay, person and demon) were rivaling for his affections and subsequently getting at each other’s throats for doing so, he took notice. 

That was what led Wirt to his current situation, sitting on the couch in the living room of the Shack with Dipper wedged in between he and Bill, the silence tense. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked both of you here,” Dipper said eventually, voice cracking a bit. It was clear that he was nervous, looking frantically between the two of them. Wirt was sure his own worries were clear on his face, while Bill maintained a calm and cool expression, not giving anything away. 

“Not really,” Bill answered, despite the mostly rhetorical statement. “I’m omnipotent, kid. I saw you rehearsing this speech to yourself in the mirror last ni-”

“Okay, Wirt doesn’t need to know that!” Dipper rushed out, voice pitching a bit higher than usual. When he offered Wirt an apologetic smile, his face was red. It made Wirt’s heart pound in his ears. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve… spoken to both of you individually about my feelings-” 

_Oh, god, is he going to reject me right in front of Bill?!_ Wirt thought frantically, widening his eyes at the back of Dipper’s head when the man moved his gaze over to the demon.

“-and you know that I have feelings for both of you.”

Wirt held back his sigh of relief. _Have_ , present-tense. Dipper wasn’t outright rejecting him just yet. 

Dipper paused there, looking between the two of them as if either of them would have anything to say just yet. The look on Bill’s face was contemplative, and Wirt despised that the demon already knew what Dipper was going to say when he had no idea. 

When neither of them said anything, Dipper rushed out, almost unintelligibly, “Iwanttobewithbothofyou.” At Wirt’s shocked expression, he took a deep breath and slowly repeated, “I want to be with both of you.”

Wirt’s heart felt about ready to stop as he turned the words over in his head. When he felt like he wouldn’t gasp for air if he spoke, he hesitantly asked, “Do you mean like… an open relationship?” It was basically what they’d already been doing, but Wirt’s heart hurt at the idea of continuing to do so for much longer. The idea of never knowing when his not-boyfriend was spending his nights with someone else hurt deep in his chest. 

Dipper opened his mouth to respond, but just for a moment, his breath seemed to get caught in his throat. He was just as nervous as Wirt. He wondered if Bill was able to hear Dipper’s heartbeat, but then that had him worrying that Bill could hear _his_ heartbeat as well, so he tried to push the thought out of his mind. 

“That’s not… really…” Dipper seemed at a loss for words, despite having apparently rehearsed this speech in the mirror beforehand. He turned his gaze on Wirt, brown eyes burning behind his glasses with unreadable emotion. “I meant more like…” he looked to Bill, “... polyamory.” 

Before Wirt had the chance to react, Bill spat, “Pine Tree, I don’t _share_.” 

Wirt couldn’t see the look that Dipper was giving Bill, but based on the way the demon’s face quickly melted from its steely expression to a more considerate one, he could only imagine. Brown eyes, wide and pleading, slim black frames only making them look bigger. He’d seen that look before, whenever Dipper wanted something, but in his case, it was usually the last bite of his bagel at breakfast or an extra ten minutes to sleep in. 

He must have thought that he’d won Bill over, for he turned his gaze on his other not-boyfriend. “Wirt…?” he asked softly, voice sounding like it was ready to crack. It made Wirt’s heart lurch and all he wanted was to throw his arms around the man’s neck and scream, _yes, yes, anything that will make you happy._

But he couldn’t. He needed to be rational here. 

“Dipper- Dip, you know that I- I love you,” it wasn’t the first time he’d said it in the past few months, not by a longshot, but it still made his heart flutter and he could see Dipper’s eyes widen just slightly, “but I don’t think that I… y’know, want to... be in a relationship with… Bill.” The words were forced, every one of his instincts cringing at the prospect and screaming at him to run, run for the hills and not look back. 

“I know that,” Dipper assured him, looking back and forth between the two of them once more. Bill’s golden eyes were burning into him now, cool and contemplative. “There- there are lots of different kinds of poly relationships,” his tone was the one he took up when he’d been ‘researching’ something, “and it’s- it’s definitely possible for you to both be… _with_ me, while not necessarily being with each other.”

That reassurance made Wirt feel the slightest bit better, though he was still pretty sure he was crazy for even considering this. Whether or not he and Bill were “together” in the relationship, he still would be, in all technicalities, dating both Dipper Pines and, by extension, a demon. 

Bill snickered softly, and Wirt’s eyes flicked up to him. In a panic, he quickly thought, _Can you read my mind_? He had no idea how far the demon’s powers extended, though Dipper had referred to him as the ‘master of the mind’ on more than one occasion. 

If Bill _could_ hear his thoughts, he gave no indication of it. Suddenly, though, that just made Wirt more certain that he _could_ , and he mentally tripped over himself as he attempted to _not_ think of bad things. _Holy shit, do_ not _think of sex. Don’t think of dicks. Especially don’t think of_ Dipper’s _dick, oh my god_.

Neither of them had spoken, so Dipper’s anxiety seemed to increase tenfold as he frantically looked back and forth between them. “So…?” he asked, seeming to try and not let his voice break.

Wirt suddenly felt bad for him. He’d been so concerned about how _he_ was feeling about this whole scenario, but it must have been so difficult for Dipper to ask. 

“I suppose,” Bill started, and Wirt jumped, “that if Music Note is up for it, I could be as well.” 

A smile finally broke Dipper’s face as he looked back to Wirt, worry dissipating, and Wirt’s heart swelled. He couldn’t deny Dipper something that made him happy, not when just the thought of it provoked such a smile. 

His mouth was dry, and his voice sounded weak when he finally swallowed and managed, “Alright.”

Dipper’s eyes widened and his grin grew, splitting his face before he lunged forward, throwing his arms around Wirt’s neck until he was half in his lap and his lips were on Wirt’s. He kissed him sloppily and just for a second before he was turning around and, a bit more hesitantly, pressing his lips against Bill’s. 

This didn’t come as much of a shock as it maybe should have. He knew that Dipper and Bill kissed probably just as much (or more) as he and Dipper did; he’d seen the hickey, after all, and he’d stumbled upon them in compromising positions more than once. 

Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like he was seeing his boyfriend kissing another man, though that was, essentially, what was happening. It was as though having Dipper’s feelings for him reaffirmed made him feel so much better. 

Dipper wasn’t leaving him for Bill. Dipper loved him just as much as he did Bill, and that was why he couldn’t choose. 

And Wirt was okay with that. He didn’t have to. 

\-----

He expected things to change. He was wrong. 

It was more of the same of what had been going on for months, but with slightly less hurt feelings and significantly less competition. Instead of jealously worrying about Dipper spending the night with Bill when Wirt didn’t sleep over at the Shack, he just accepted it. Bill was dating Dipper just as much as Wirt was. He had every right. 

More often than not, though, Wirt _did_ spend the night in Dipper’s bed. He knew which nights that Dipper was with Bill, though. When Bill wasn’t in his head- maybe he was off doing whatever it is dream demons do, Wirt didn’t know- it took him much longer to fall asleep. When he did, he’d stir, mumbling and kicking out. He’d softly cry out his great uncle’s name along with something about a portal. 

Dipper had the same nightmare a lot, Wirt realized. 

On the nights that he spent in his dreamscape with Bill, he’d lay still and calm in Wirt’s arms. Wirt would force himself to stay awake simply so he could observe the change. Dipper would smile in his sleep, relaxing and only making soft cooing noises when Wirt would card his fingers through his hair. 

Wirt found that it was nearly impossible to stir Dipper when he was in the mindscape with Bill. Even trying to shake him awake or speak to him was futile, and Wirt eventually decided that Dipper just didn’t want to be woken up. 

The first night that he was pulled out of his pleasant dreams was when Wirt first had the nightmare. 

It wasn’t _his_ first time having the nightmare, but it was the first time he’d had it while sleeping in Dipper’s bed. Normally, just being held in the man’s arms was enough to quell his inner fears, but it’d been an anxiety-ridden day full of work-related stress, and he figured that that was why the darkness crept in. 

The dream was always the same: sentient tree branches sprouting out of _somewhere_ and dragging him into an icy lake. Even without the need to breathe in dreams, a panic would always set into his dream-self the moment he was pulled underneath the surface and all hope of oxygen was diminished. The branches would wrap around him as they pulled him down, down, down, deeper than a lake should go and certainly deeper than the actual lake of his hometown’s cemetery, pulling until the light at the surface became a distant memory. 

The worst part of it being a dream was that he didn’t _need_ to breathe. He’d experience it all. He couldn’t die. 

By the time his back finally hit what should have been the bottom of the lake, a soft sand cushion, he was suddenly back on the ground. Still, he was deprived of air, the darkness swirling around the looming trees suffocating. 

The branches would hold him to the ground as the Beast leaned over him, a wispy hand wrapping around his throat like smoke but still managing to choke him with an iron grip. More roots would somehow branch out from his hand, piercing Wirt’s throat as he gasped, choking on his own blood. 

“ _You couldn’t save him, Wirt_ ,” the Beast would laugh, voice cruel and condescending. “ _You doomed him to a fate like mine._ ”

Sometimes, that was where he woke up. And sometimes the Beast would drag out the torture, new comments forming with each nightmare until Wirt’s subconscious couldn’t take it anymore and his gasping sobs cut off his airflow, his body forcing him into consciousness. 

Neither were the case tonight, as he didn’t wake up on his own. Instead, he was suddenly brutally aware of a pair of very solid, very _real_ hands gripping his shoulders and _shaking_ , and this panicked him more than anything. 

The Beast wasn’t real, not in this world, anyway. The Beast couldn’t hurt him here. The Beast couldn’t get to him. 

And yet he saw the Beast in his head and there were _real_ hands touching him and he panicked. 

Before he even had his eyes opened, he had rolled on top of his attacker and thrown the hands off of himself, bringing his own hands down. By the time he had his eyes open and his consciousness was better settling in, his hands were already wrapped around Dipper’s throat. 

The wave of surprise that washed over him was just as bad as the feeling of the icy water consuming him, and he jolted back. He scrambled away until his back hit where Dipper’s bed was pushed against the wall, and he fought the urge to scream as he curled in on himself. 

Oh god. Oh, god. He’d just attacked Dipper. He was awake and the Beast wasn’t here and he’d just _attacked Dipper_. 

“Wirt…?” To his credit, Dipper didn’t sound angry or scared. He just sounded concerned as he slowly sat up and scooted a bit closer to Wirt, hand extending slowly as if approaching a startled animal. 

“D-don’t come near me!” 

Dipper flinched, drawing his hand away. 

“Oh, god.” Wirt tucked his head into his knees, shaking. He could still feel the Beast wrapping a thorned hand around his throat, and the terrifying transition from the dream sensations to the real sensations of actual hands on him. “Dipper.” He raised his head, searching for his boyfriend’s eyes in the darkness. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, a sob rising in his throat. “I’m so s-” 

“Shhhh.” Dipper was suddenly there, wrapping his arms around him and pulling Wirt into his lap like he was a child. Wirt didn’t startle away from the touch, instead melting into it and whimpering softly. Dipper pulled the comforter up and around them both. “It’s okay, love. It’s alright. You’re safe with me. You’re safe.” 

He didn’t doubt it.

\-----

The next morning, Bill was at the kitchen table when Wirt made it downstairs. Neither he nor Dipper had made it back to sleep, instead just cuddling and talking until the sun rose and they had to get ready to open the Mystery Shack. Wirt decided to take the first shower while Dipper made breakfast, but when he finally made it down to the kitchen, hair dripping wet and wearing only a pair of jeans, his boyfriend was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, a grinning blonde dream demon was seated at the table, his feet resting on it in a move that would have gotten him scolded by Dipper. 

“Morning, Music Note!” he greeted cheerily, much happier than he usually was upon seeing Wirt. Maybe he was warming up to him after seeing how happy Dipper was with both of them? “Have a seat.” 

That was the last thing that Wirt wanted to do, but the plate of eggs and bacon sitting in his spot, obviously prepared by Dipper, called to him. His stomach was empty and especially aching after crying for most of the night. God, he hoped that Bill didn’t know that, but upon thinking it, he was suddenly sure that that was what the grin was about. 

Trying to hide how self-conscious he was- he never would have come out in so little clothing if he knew that Bill was going to be there- he took a seat. 

“Where’s-” 

“Getting the newspaper,” Bill interrupted, pulling his feet down from the table and sitting up to better face Wirt. Once again, a part of Wirt’s head questioned Bill’s mind reading abilities, though he supposed that question wouldn’t have really been that difficult to predict the ending of. 

Wirt glanced down at the plate of food. He worried that whatever Bill wanted to talk about would quickly kill his appetite, so he downed a few forkfuls of eggs and a swig of orange juice before finally staring the demon down and starting, “So…” 

“Let’s not beat around the bush, Music Note.” Suddenly, Bill’s demeanor was much more serious, his eyes flashing crimson for a moment before returning to their usually gold. If Wirt had blinked, he would have missed it. The demon steepled his fingers, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve become a danger to Pine Tree.” 

Whatever Wirt was expecting Bill to say, it wasn’t that, and the words hit him hard. He reeled back, asking, “ _What_?” even as the words sunk in and sent an icy feeling into his chest. 

"I saw that little stint last night," the demon drawled, voice cold. "And make no mistake. I'll not have you laying hands on what belongs to me with ill intent."

He ignored the way the possessive words sent a sick feeling into his stomach, instead immediately lurching into a more defensive position. "That- that was an accident!" he defended. His voice came out high. "I wasn't trying to hurt him."

"And if you had?" Bill challenged. "What if Dipper has bruises on his neck from where you tried to throttle him?"

Wirt's fork clattered down against the plate and he gripped the edge of the table to ground himself. "That- he doesn't-"

"Who're you talking to?" came Dipper's voice from the hallway a split second before he walked into the kitchen, tossing the newspaper onto the counter. His already-present smile grew when he noticed his other boyfriend. "Oh, hey, Bill."

"Pine Tree," the demon acknowledged, tilting his head up to eagerly accept the man's lips. As soon as he pulled away from that kiss, Dipper crossed to the other side of the table to give Wirt one as well, fingers tangling in Wirt's wet hair and eyes roaming appreciatively over the bare skin on display. Wirt flushed, some color returning to his paled face.

Dipper sat in the chair on the side of the table in between them, pulling the plate that was in front of Bill (obviously where Dipper had originally planned to sit) in front of himself and taking a bite of his own eggs. “‘s it good?” he asked Wirt, mouth still partially full and gesturing to Wirt’s plate with his fork. 

Wirt forced a smile, making himself take another bite for show. His eggs were already turning cold, which he wasn’t sure was possible considering how steaming hot they’d been a minute before. “Yeah. Thank you.” His eyes landed on Dipper’s neck. No bruises visible, but who knew what it felt like?

“No problem.” Dipper threw one of his legs across Wirt’s lap, sprawling out too casually for a kitchen chair. He looked at Bill, propping one of his elbows up on the table. “So, why’re you here?” 

“What?” Bill feigned innocence, hand fluttering to his chest. “I can’t just stop in to see my,” his eyes flickered to Wirt for a moment, “ _boyfriend_?”

If Dipper noticed the extra emphasis put on the last word, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave Bill a flat stare. “ _You_ can’t,” he answered. “You’re here for a reason. What is it?” Bill rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath in lieu of an answer, and Dipper’s demeanor changed. A small smile played at his lips as he continued, “Unless you just wanted to help out around the Shack today?”

"Aaaaand that's my cue to leave," the demon drawled, promptly standing up. Dipper smiled, tilting his head back when Bill came over to twist his fingers in the brunette’s hair, to ghost the tips of his gloved fingers over his neck. 

Right where Wirt had had his hands locked in place a few hours before. 

As soon as Bill disappeared, Dipper’s smile dropped. He turned a more serious look on Wirt, his food forgotten. “What did he say to you?” the mystery hunter asked, concern growing in his eyes. 

“Huh? Oh…” Wirt felt his face heat up, the back of his neck starting to itch. He was a horrible liar. “It was nothing.”

His boyfriend didn’t look convinced. He brought his foot down from Wirt’s lap, sitting up. Sighing, he murmured, “Wirt, I know… I know this poly thing is difficult for you. And I know that you might not like Bill very much-” _That was an understatement_ , “-but I really appreciate how much you’re trying for me.” Dipper’s warm smile returned and Wirt’s heart melted, his worries breaking away. “I don’t know what Bill said to you, but… don’t hold it against him, alright? He’s not great at this whole ‘acting human’ thing. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word _subtle_.” 

Wirt was nodding before he had even fully comprehended the words, but when he did, he felt himself relax a bit. As much disdain as he held for Bill and as threatened by him that he was, Dipper had a point. Bill had a different way of getting his point across than a human would. 

He was just worried about Dipper’s wellbeing, and Wirt could respect that. After all… Bill had a point. Wirt was a threat. 

He wouldn’t let himself hurt Dipper. He wouldn’t.

\-----

Whatever acceptance Wirt had for Bill was quickly lost after a brief conversation with Mabel. 

“I- I feel weird asking Dipper about this because of our- _arrangement_ ,” Mabel was more than familiar with the terms of his relationship with Dipper (and Bill) and grinned at the word, “but… do you know the extent of his deal with Bill?” 

He was asking because he’d begun to do his own research. For as little as he knew about the supernatural beyond his own experience in the Unknown and what Dipper told him, his boyfriend always encouraged him to peruse through any of the books in his extensive library. Out of boredom one day, he’d started to look through one of the Journals that Dipper so heavily relied on. 

And that was how he discovered the pages on Bill. 

He’d been flipping through and froze when his eyes landed on the familiar triangle with an eye inside. Wirt had never seen Bill’s demonic form himself, but the Eye of Providence symbol was prominent enough around the Shack for him to make the connection. 

He scanned the page, his stomach lurching as his fingertips trailed over the blood-stained text. 

_Do not summon at all costs!_

No. No, there was no way that this was real. How had Dipper seen this and then still made a deal with the demon? Dipper looked to his great uncle as if he was a god; his word was law. 

But he couldn’t question Dipper about it. Dipper had horrible self-esteem, especially when it came to his decisions; if Wirt doubted him on such a serious decision, it would kill him. He’d think that Wirt didn’t trust him, and frankly, Wirt didn’t at the moment. 

But he trusted Bill even less. 

Out of desperation to get answers, he’d called Mabel and asked if she wanted to get lunch. She’d been eager to, saying that it’d be nice to hang out with him without Dipper there ‘Dipper-ing things up.’ 

Mabel chewed a bite of her panini, contemplating his question. “It was the knowledge of the universe in return for binding his soul to Bill,” she answered. A silent question laid in the air with her raised eyebrow: _didn’t you know this already_?

He did. He was familiar enough with the vague agreement. “Yeah, I know that, I just- I was wondering- what does Dipper-” 

“Wirt, honey, what’s this really about?” Mabel took a sip of her lemonade through her straw, leveling her gaze on him. She had the same chocolate-brown eyes as Dipper, but hers were brighter, not accompanied by dark bags underneath. 

Wirt opened his mouth to answer, a lie, but snapped it shut. After a moment, he sighed. “I saw the Journal pages on Bill.” 

Understanding filled her eyes. She didn’t even hesitate before rushing out, “Bill’s changed.”

“Demons don’t change, Mabel.” He felt bad saying the words, as if he was betraying Dipper. It made him feel even worse to know that Bill could be watching him at this very moment, knowing that he was, in a way, plotting against him. 

The usually chipper girl sighed, pushing her straw around in her glass. “You didn’t know him the way he used to be. He was much more chaotic-”

“How is _that_ possible?” Wirt interjected. 

“-and much more manipulative,” Mabel continued, ignoring him. “He… he and Ford go way back, and it wasn’t pretty.” 

Wirt wanted to press for details, but that story wasn’t any of his business. “And Dipper still made a deal with him, knowing that?”

Mabel smiled sadly. Something told Wirt that she hadn’t been happy with that decision, at least at the time. “Dip was… not in a good place at the time. Mentally. He was desperate.”

“So Bill could be using him,” Wirt stated, leaning forward on his hands. His chest burned at the thought. 

“Could have been,” Mabel corrected, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “If he was, he’s not anymore. He’s in love with Dipper, Wirt. I can tell.”

Wirt didn’t want to believe it. _He_ was in love with Dipper; there was no way such an evil creature could feel the same thing that he did. 

But Mabel seemed certain. She reassured him time and time again that she was confident in Bill. 

While it was hard to doubt the demon when both his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s sister trusted him completely, Wirt still went home with a sick feeling in his stomach. 

\-----

On a lazy Sunday morning a few weeks later, one of the few days that Wirt was waking up in his own apartment rather than at Dipper’s, Wirt was pulled out of sleep by his phone vibrating. He rolled over, blinking sleepily at the screen. 

FROM: Dipper Pines  
**If you’re still coming over today, mind picking up a few things?**

The clock on his phone told him that it was already mid-morning, but he’d been sleeping off and on all night, so this wasn’t really a surprise. He dragged himself out of bed as he texted Dipper a quick affirmative and asked what he needed, tiredly stumbling out to his kitchen to start boiling water for tea. 

His boyfriend answered just as Wirt was pouring the water into his favorite mug and dropping the tea ball in for the leaves to steep. 

FROM: Dipper Pines  
**Chicken soup, Tylenol, and absinthe wormwood, if you know where to find it.**

He frowned, leaning against the counter as he reread the text.

TO: Dipper Pines  
**Are you sick?**

And then immediately after, 

TO: Dipper Pines  
**Where, exactly, would one go to find wormwood?**

Dipper’s response came quicker this time. 

FROM: Dipper Pines  
**The drugstore should have some. If not, I know a botanist on 4th who owes me a favor.**

FROM: Dipper Pines:  
**And, yes. Sorta. To answer your first question.**

The lack of a further explanation worried Wirt, but it became much worse with the next text that quickly followed before Wirt could respond. 

FROM: Dipper Pines  
**Come as soon as you can.**

Wirt didn’t hesitate before dumping his abandoned tea down the sink and rushing to change clothes, almost forgetting his keys as he stumbled over himself on his way out. 

\-----

The drugstore _did_ have absinthe wormwood, but it came in a cheap packaging and was only available in tablet form. When he texted Dipper to ask if that would be acceptable, the other man responded with the contact information for the botanist he knew. 

After Wirt picked up the other items Dipper had requested along with a few additional things for him (sick people always needed tea, and Dipper never seemed to have an abundance on hand), he stopped by the man’s shop down on 4th Street. Luckily, the man didn’t question what he needed it for (Wirt wouldn’t have known what to tell him anyways), he just gave him a more natural form of the herb and told him to give Dipper his best. Wirt thanked him, tucked the bag into his satchel, and practically ran the rest of the way to the Shack.

The door was unlocked when he got there, meaning he didn’t have to use his spare key to get in but leaving him frowning nonetheless. If Dipper was sick in bed, he shouldn’t have the door unlocked. Plus, there was merchandise in the gift shop, and even if the “Closed” sign was hanging on the museum door as it did every Sunday, that wouldn’t stop somebody from waltzing in. Wirt had never met Dipper’s great uncle Stan- by the time he’d come to Gravity Falls, Dipper had already inherited the Shack from the man who had retired and moved to Vegas- but from what he’d heard, he suspected that the man would have burned Dipper alive for being so careless. 

He hurriedly climbed the stairs to Dipper’s attic bedroom, pausing out in the landing outside his room when he heard Bill’s voice. Oh. So Bill was already here. Of course. 

Wirt didn’t let himself be bitter about it for too long; Dipper was sick. Dipper needed him. He knocked softly, rapping his knuckles on the door twice before letting himself in. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. There was a blanket hung over the triangle-shaped window, blocking out most of the light, but the little bit that seeped through was enough for him to see his boyfriend’s shape lying in the bed and Bill sitting on the edge. Both turned their heads to him when he came in, and he ignored the oddness of the situation, dropping his bag to the floor as he hurried over to Dipper. 

He rested one knee on the bed as he leaned over the man, lifting a hand to his face to brush his bangs back. He ignored how close this forced him to Bill, whose heat he could feel radiating off of him from a few inches away. 

Though that might just be Dipper, whose entire face seemed to be burning up. He leaned weakly into Wirt’s touch, and Wirt gasped and had to force himself not to pull away when he realized just _how_ hot Dipper’s skin was. 

“You’re burning up,” he murmured, worry settling in. He was relatively certain that Dipper felt hotter than any fever he’d ever experienced, meaning that whatever he was sick with, it probably wasn’t human. That would explain why he needed the wormwood, then. Wirt certainly wasn’t a master in herbology, but he’d spent enough time around Dipper to know which herbs held magical healing properties. 

“Y-” Dipper didn’t even get a full syllable out before he was coughing, raising his hands to cover his face, and Bill was suddenly off the bed, leaning over the human. When he was done coughing, he gave Wirt a sad smile, just barely visible in the darkness of the room. “Yeah. I sorta inhaled some fairydust in the woods this morning.” 

Wirt’s brow furrowed. “Is that-?”

“Poisonous to humans,” Bill answered, tone curt. He didn’t look at Wirt, but pushed Wirt’s hand away from Dipper’s face so he himself could curl his fingers in Dipper’s hair. 

“Shit,” Wirt breathed, sitting fully on the bed and scooting back until he bumped Dipper’s legs. He rubbed them through the blankets. 

“I’ll be okay,” his boyfriend managed after another coughing fit, voice weak. “You got the stuff, right?”

“Yeah.” Wirt nodded and gestured vaguely towards his bag by the door. Bill wasted no time in swiftly pulling back from his boyfriend and moving to grab Wirt’s entire bag, exiting the room without another word. Wirt blinked, then shouted, “Hey!” to the retreating demon, leaping off the bed. “You can’t just-” He froze, looking back at Dipper. 

His sick boyfriend was giving him an amused look, eyes a bit squinted without his glasses. “Go ahead,” he murmured softly, smile playing at his lips despite how deathly pale his skin was. “I’m gonna try and nap anyways.”

Wirt leaned over him, brushing his lips over the other’s birthmark and knowing that he would probably blush if his skin wasn’t already extremely hot. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked without pulling back, leveling his stare with the other man’s.

“Yeah,” Dipper answered with a small smile, and Wirt believed him. “I’ve gotten myself into worse.” 

Wirt remembered the vampire incident and cringed, then nodded. “Alright. Try and sleep. I’ll be just downstairs, alright? So yell or text me if you need anything.” 

Dipper nodded, then let his eyes slip closed, pulling the blanket further up and tighter around himself as if he was freezing. Wirt crossed the room to the door, casting one more worried look on the man’s curled-up form before shutting the door softly behind him, cringing as the light coming in through the landing’s window hit his eyes. 

He hurried down the stairs, following the soft sounds he heard into the kitchen, where Bill had haphazardly dumped out the contents of his satchel onto the table. Wirt bristled, hurrying over and roughly shoving his books and pens back into his bag, glaring at the demon who had secured the wormwood and was comparing it next to something else that Dipper must have already had on hand. 

He wanted to snap at the demon for grabbing his bag, but there was a concerned, concentrated look on his face as he examined the herbs. His words died in his throat. 

Bill was worried? 

_Of course he’s worried,_ one part of him said, while the other part was screaming that it was all just an act. That Bill was using Dipper. He had some “big plan” like the Journals said and he was just trying to fool Wirt’s poor, caring boyfriend into thinking that he loved him. 

Once again, Wirt felt a bit of guilt. How could he doubt _anybody’s_ love for Dipper, even a demon’s? Dipper was the easiest person to love that Wirt knew. 

Whether it was because he genuinely loved Dipper or because he didn’t want to lose a pawn’s life to something as simple as inhaled fairydust, Bill was quick to work, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and wasting no time in starting to mix the herbs in it. Wirt made a mental note to make sure that Dipper tossed out that bowl later. 

The poet felt weird just standing there and he wanted to help, so he tentatively asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

Bill’s gaze snapped up from his work for just a second but his hands didn’t pause in pouring some purple, viscous liquid into the mixing bowl. “Unless you’re a practiced alchemist or herbalist, no,” he snapped, eyes returning to his work. Wirt flinched, deflating a bit. 

When Wirt didn’t move after a few moments, Bill’s eyes flicked back up, a bit of his annoyance disappearing. His hands paused, the soft whisking sound dying down with them, and he set his mouth in a firm line for a moment before saying, “You can sit down, Music Note.” 

Wirt practically collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, worry weighing him down as he ran his hands through his hair, focusing his eyes on the etches in the table’s wood. After a second, the sound of Bill mixing things started back up. 

Wirt didn’t look back up at Bill until he spoke again, casually stating, “He’ll be okay, you know.” 

He wanted to say, _I hope so,_ wanted to ask, _How can you be so sure?_ Instead, he found himself unable to bite his tongue as he quickly retorted, “Then why are you so worried?”

The wooden spoon that Bill was (mis)using to mix the substance roughly scraped the bottom of the bowl hard enough to knock it over, sending some of the contents onto the table. Bill swore but didn’t make a move to clean it up, and Wirt pulled his bag back slightly. 

It was a long time before Bill answered, but his lip remained curled back in an angry snarl. When he finally answered, it was to bitterly spit, “It’s _difficult_ to see him like this, Music Note.” 

Wirt could relate, but he raised a questioning eyebrow anyway. He ignored the way he could already feel his adrenaline pumping just at the idea that he was sitting so close to an angry, stressed demon. Bill’s weak state might be the only chance Wirt would ever get to get an honest answer out of him. 

Bill seemed to realize that Wirt was egging him on for an answer, and his face relaxed just the slightest bit. Still, his voice was tense when he continued, “Having known Pine Tree for as long as I have, I’ve seen him under just about the worst circumstances you could imagine.” Wirt knew that Dipper had been through a lot but couldn’t think of a specific example off the top of his head, and he shuddered at the thought of his boyfriend enduring something that _Bill_ would consider bad. Bill’s gaze met his, gold irises burning. “Never once did I see Pine Tree break under pressure.” 

Wirt swallowed, nodding slowly. His stomach hurt at the implications. “So that’s why-?”

“That’s why, even if I _know_ that this illness isn’t going to kill him, it worries me. Because I’ve seen him endure things that would kill any other mortal or else drive them to insanity, and yet a simple disease is the thing to have Dipper in shambles.”

The use of Dipper’s actual name rather than the preferred affectionate nickname of ‘Pine Tree’ had Wirt shivering, but he wasn’t sure why. This was by far the longest he’d ever heard Bill speak seriously when there wasn’t a threat involved, and he was horrified at the part of himself that found that he didn’t mind listening to Bill talk too badly. 

He pushed the thought out of his mind. This was still Bill Cipher, the demon who the Journals insisted not to trust. He still had no idea what this guy’s intentions towards Dipper were, even if that speech made it a bit difficult not to believe that he had the man’s bests interests at heart. 

At… mind? Did demons have hearts?

“Don’t have an aneurism, Music Note,” Bill chuckled, breaking him out of his thoughts. It was sort of appreciated, until he jokingly(?) continued, “You’re not fifty-five yet.” 

Wirt glared. “Do you have to do that all the time?”

“Do what?” Bill feigned innocence. 

“Make so lightly of death.” 

Bill’s laugh was cold and crude, a major contrast to the seriousness of the conversation from just a minute before. “Come on, kid, death is hilarious! It’s absolutely inevitable, and you’re dying with every breath you take. Meatsacks being utterly terrified of it is just the icing on the cake.”

“I’m not afraid to die,” Wirt stated honestly with no hesitation. Bill’s eyes flicked up to him for a moment along with a raised eyebrow, a silent question: _Really_? Wirt took a shuddering breath, unsure of exactly why he was telling Bill this, but he still continued, “I’m afraid of what comes before.” 

He didn’t mean _life_ , and Bill knew it. They’d both seen Wirt’s nightmares of the Unknown. The mirth left the demon’s eyes, a serious feeling falling over the room once more. 

There was silence for long enough that Wirt thought maybe the conversation was over. He absently picked at dirt under his nails, jumping slightly when Bill’s voice cut through the room, “Why did you come to Gravity Falls?” 

He raised his gaze, only to find that Bill was more focused on mixing the potion than he was on him. An array of bottles and packages now laid scattered on top of the table, more than Wirt had noticed before, and he wondered where the demon was procuring them from. 

His voice broke slightly as he answered, “You already know.”

“Let me rephrase.” Bill dumped a tawny powder into the mixture, and a bit of smoke blew up into his face. He coughed. “When you came to Gravity Falls, what were you hoping to find?” His eyes lifted, irises still the calm gold but with something darker in them. “And more importantly, why are you still here?”

The words sliced through him like glass, all of his resolve crumbling with the question. It wasn’t accusatory, nor was it implying _you shouldn’t be here, you need to leave._ It was an honest question, but there was a motive behind it that Wirt just couldn’t see. 

“I- I wanted to find answers,” he stuttered out, and dammit, he shouldn’t be stumbling over his words! He was a twenty-five year old man and a poet; words were his specialty. “I wanted to know what the Unknown really was.” 

“And when you found out?” Bill prompted. 

“I couldn’t leave.” The words were his own, but they didn’t feel like it anymore. They were coming out on their own. 

“Why?”

“Because- because there were still more answers to get, more research to be done before I could-” 

“And yet you fully settled down here. You’re currently working on publishing a poetry book through a publisher in Portland, correct?” 

How did Bill know that? “Y-yeah, but-” 

“So you don’t intend to return to Massachusetts.” 

“I- I don’t know, I-”

“What’s really keeping you in Gravity Falls, then?” 

“Because I’m in love with Dipper, alright?” he snapped. He knew that was the point that Bill was trying to get across, the smirk playing at his lips making that more than clear, and a satisfied look came over the demon’s face at this outburst. He felt his face heat up as he realized just how _loudly_ he’d yelled that, and he quietly grumbled, “What’s your point? That’s no secret.”

“My _point_ , Music Note,” Bill answered without missing a beat, “is that you look at your love for Pine Tree as being more important than your desire to learn about the Unknown. So you say that the Unknown is your biggest fear, but that’s overcome by-” 

“-by Dipper,” Wirt finished, realization settling in as well as more confusion. It was… certainly a convoluted way of doing so, but Bill had… actually made him feel a bit better. Bill smiled just slightly, not in a mean way, and Wirt felt his face get even warmer. “Why tell me that? How does that help you?”

Bill turned his attention back to his work, humming contemplatively. “It just does.” 

\-----

When the potion was finished, Bill went to go wake Dipper to give it to him. He didn’t invite Wirt to come. 

When he returned to the kitchen, Wirt had made himself a cup of tea and was writing random snippets of poems as they formed in his head down onto a heart-printed napkin that he was sure Mabel had bought. He didn’t hear Bill come in- he moved soundlessly, carrying himself with an air of importance that just didn’t let him have heavy footsteps- and jumped when the demon pulled out the chair opposite of him, the wood scraping against the linoleum. 

“He drank it,” Bill updated him without being prompted, and Wirt felt a little bit better. “Also, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t wake up for… ehh, nine or ten hours. I knocked him out with some pretty heavy magic.” 

That was a bit more concerning, but he knew that Bill would give Dipper pleasant dreams and that he probably needed the sleep anyways; his boyfriend had a bad habit of sleep depriving himself until he collapsed. Some forced rest couldn’t hurt him. 

Wirt nodded, then frowned. “Wait, are you not going to… hang around until he wakes up?”

Bill fixed him with a heavy stare, searching him for- something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. “No. With our link, I’ll feel it as soon as he’s awake, so I might as well go get some work done.” Wirt wasn’t sure what showed on his face, but a smirk slowly spread across the demon’s. “Unless you _want_ me to stay, Music Note?”

Wirt spluttered, dropping his pen onto the scribbled-on napkin. “N-no! I was just-” he looked down, hands folding against each other, and lowered his voice as he mumbled, “But I sorta heated up too much water for my tea,” he nodded towards the kettle still sitting on the stove, “so there’s probably enough left still if you… if you wanted a cup.” 

He dared to glance up at the demon, only for his gaze to shoot back downwards when he caught sight of Bill’s devious grin. “Ugh, nevermi-”

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do!” Bill interrupted cheerily, jumping up to secure a mug from the cabinet and pour the hot water in, taking a teabag from the box that Wirt had brought. He brought that back to the table with a napkin and a spoon, grinning at Wirt the whole time. 

The poet rolled his eyes and refocused on his writing, trying to ignore the way Bill hummed a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. After a few moments, the almost-quiet calmed him enough for him to bring his pen back down and continue jotting down his thoughts. 

Of course, this didn’t last. “Are you writing poetry?” Bill asked after a minute, voice too loud for the quiet kitchen. Wirt flinched slightly at the sound. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed. Obviously Bill knew he wrote- he somehow knew that Wirt was publishing a book, and he’d surely seen the poems that Wirt had left around the Shack for Dipper during their courting game. Still, it wasn’t something he openly spoke about too often with anyone who wasn’t Dipper. 

“Can I read what you have?” 

His eyes flicked upwards, scanning Bill for any sign of a trick. There didn’t seem to be one; the blonde was just looking at him with too-innocent curiosity, a look of fascination in his eyes. 

After a hesitant moment, the man brought his pen away, sliding the napkin forward just slightly. “It’s not very good, but-” Before he finished his sentence, Bill had already stood up, leaned over the table enough to snatch the paper, and sat back down. 

Wirt clicked his pen nervously, staring at his hands rather than letting himself watch Bill’s face for reactions. When the demon still hadn’t said anything after a few long, torturous seconds, Wirt mumbled, “Really, it was just some random th-” 

“This is great,” Bill interrupted. There was no hint of a joke in his tone, and Wirt swallowed, hard. When Bill’s golden eyes flicked back up to emphasize his point, Wirt felt like his heart might stop, just for a second, and then he mentally kicked himself for being so afflicted. 

“I- thank you,” he mumbled sheepishly, smiling despite himself at the praise. 

“Really. Your work is akin to that of Plath, really.” While Wirt gaped at this comparison, Bill smiled to himself as if there was some joke that Wirt didn’t get. “Lovely lady, that Sylvia.”

While Wirt was still absolutely _floored_ at being compared to one of his favorite poets of all time, Bill’s wording caught his attention more. “You _knew_ her?” he asked, sure his eyes were wide and amazed. 

Bill chuckled, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, sure. _Great_ poker player.” A darker look came over his face. “You don’t have writers like that without them having _some_ sort of demonic activity in their lives.” 

The implications of that statement made him feel a little nauseous, especially considering that Bill had just compared his writing to hers. He tried not to let it unsettle him, instead asking, “So, how did you meet her?” 

“You’d be appalled at the poor workmanship of the staff at McLean. Apparently one of their patients summoning a demon isn’t cause for concern.” 

Wirt leaned forward on his hands, listening with rapt attention as Bill talked about meeting Plath and how he may have either helped her or driven her more insane, but he “couldn’t really tell the difference.” For all of Bill’s dark humor, he seemed to take the situation relatively seriously, especially when he talked about her descent further into her depression towards the end of her life. 

He couldn’t help but ask Bill what she was like, and the demon seemed more than happy to continue talking. Once he got started, it was hard to stop, and he transitioned out of the talk of Plath by mentioning some other poets he had had relations with over the millennia he’d been around. 

They had somehow talked for hours before Bill, a bit begrudgingly, admitted that he really _did_ need to go get some work done- “It’s night time somewhere!” he’d said with a cheery smile. When he caught Wirt yawning, even though it was only early evening, he’d added that Wirt should go nap with Dipper until he woke up (“Don’t worry, he’s not contagious, but if he was and I was lying about that right now, how funny would that be?”). 

Wirt had been a bit hesitant, but as Bill stood up from the table and stretched, black dress shirt riding up at the bottom and exposing tan skin, he’d quickly added, “I might even send some good dreams your way, free of charge. Just to make sure you don’t wake up Pine Tree with your violent night terrors, y’know.”

The offer of peaceful sleep was too good to pass up. 

\-----

Bill was quickly becoming terrifyingly more tolerable, and Wirt was hating himself for believing so. 

Part of it was Dipper’s fault. After Wirt admitted that he’d had a relatively decent conversation with Bill while Dipper was sick, the man seemed to make a point of leaving the two of them alone in rooms together or forcing them into conversation that, after a while, stopped being so forced. 

It started on their next movie night, which Mabel and Pacifica weren’t able to attend because they were, unfortunately, meeting with the latter’s parents for dinner. It was once again Dipper’s turn to pick the movie theme, which seemed to happen more often than not because neither Wirt nor Bill wanted to deal with a pouting Dipper Pines. 

Dipper wanted to watch laughably bad old horror movies, which was how the original _Nightmare on Elm Street_ ended up playing on the TV. Dipper sat wedged in between his two boyfriends on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in Wirt’s lap since Dipper had decided that he didn’t want to hold it anymore. 

Ten minutes into the film, Dipper made a big show of checking his phone for a notification that Wirt certainly hadn’t heard, then standing up and exclaiming, “Shit, look’s like the police station is overrun by imps again! I need to get down there!” He shot his boyfriends “apologetic” looks before kissing both of their heads, ignoring the unamused looks they were shooting each other at Dipper’s act. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can!” he called on his way out the door before either of them could even say anything. 

The second the door slammed shut and Wirt and Bill were alone save for the low sounds of the TV, they exchanged a look. 

“There aren’t any imps at the police station,” Wirt deadpanned. 

“Not a single one,” Bill agreed. 

“Do you think he’s setting us up?” the poet asked. He set the bowl of popcorn on the floor as he shifted, sitting back against the armrest and swinging his legs up onto the couch, pulling them close to himself. 

Bill eyed his new position for a moment before mirroring him so that they were facing each other, only about a foot of space in between their feet. “Oh, I’m sure,” Bill answered, rolling his eyes. “He’s pulling a Shooting Star on us.” 

Wirt wasn’t familiar with that phrasing, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out. He grimaced. 

Before he could speak again, Bill asked, “Want to put on a different movie?” 

Wirt glanced towards the screen, where the blurry image of Tina Grey was being dragged up the wall and to the ceiling while Rod Lane screamed in the corner. “Sure.” 

Bill climbed off the couch, kneeling on the ground in front of the movie shelf to start looking through the DVDs. He must have had one in mind already, for he selected it pretty quickly and switched it out for the low-quality horror film. The screen went blue for a moment as Bill climbed back up onto the couch, settling in the same position, facing Wirt. 

After a moment, the menu screen came up, revealing that the movie the demon had chosen was the 2004 version of _The Phantom of the Opera._ Wirt grinned. “I love this movie,” he admitted. 

Bill scoffed slightly, glancing towards the TV. “Pine Tree doesn’t have it, but the ‘86 version was much better,” he muttered. “As was the live version. See it on Broadway if you ever get the chance. It’s worth it.”

Wirt nodded, making a mental note of it. Bill reached in between the couch cushions for the remote, and when he found it, he began the movie. They both settled back into silence. 

It was broken when Wirt got a text from Dipper saying that he might be gone for longer than intended, and that he was “sorry he had to miss movie night!” Both the human and the demon rolled their eyes at this, and this interruption sparked their commentary on the movie as Wirt expressed love for a song and Bill began to criticize the historical inaccuracy. 

They both got really into the film, scoffing at some characters and going dead silent while others were on screen. Wirt very badly sang a line during _Angel of Music_ , and Bill cheekily replied with the next line. 

Wirt couldn’t believe this. He knew what Dipper was doing- he was trying to set them up. And it was _working_. 

Okay, maybe not working. He had no idea if Bill thought anything more of him further than the small amount of toleration he held for him on Dipper’s behalf. 

But Wirt couldn’t deny that he found himself hanging on Bill’s words, heart fluttering a bit when the demon laughed at one of his corny jokes. 

Wirt started to doze off at some point, scooting a bit further down the couch so that he could better lean against the armrest. He was asleep by _Masquerade_. 

When he woke up, it was to Dipper’s hand in his hair and a pleased grin on said man’s face. The movie was over, the title screen having looped over who knows how many times, and Wirt’s legs were somehow stretched out over Bill’s lap. 

He jolted, yanking his feet back and kicking the demon in the stomach in the process. Bill made a pained noise, and Wirt scrambled back so quickly that he rolled off the couch, landing on his ass with an indignant noise. Dipper appeared startled for a minute before he laughed, unhelpfully. 

Wirt shot him a glare, and then Bill an apologetic glance. “Sorry,” he muttered, more for the legs thing than for kicking him. He gestured vaguely at his lower half, mumbling, “Long legs sorta just. Go wherever they can.”

He expected the demon to be annoyed at the very least- how long had Wirt been half-lounging on him for?- but Bill just laughed. “It’s all good, kid.” 

Wirt frowned at being called ‘kid,’ but smiled when Dipper joined him on the floor, wrapping a firm arm around him and pulling him against the other’s side. 

They leaned back against the couch, Wirt dropping his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip closed again as a pleasant classical piece poured softly out of the TV’s speakers. 

After a few minutes, when Wirt was halfway back to sleep and Dipper’s fingers were tracing light circles on his forearm, there was a soft thud as Bill joined them on the ground. If he moved around to Dipper’s side, there wouldn’t be enough couch for him to lean against (or, at least, that’s how Wirt rationalized it in his head), so he took the seat on the floor next to Wirt until the poet was firmly wedged between the two. He didn’t press himself close, or anything, but his arm was close enough to Wirt’s that the human could feel the heat radiating off of him. 

Despite how warm he bet Bill was, Wirt shivered. 

\-----

The next incident and a few seceding it were more subtle, but still abundantly clear to both Wirt and Bill what their boyfriend was doing. 

Dipper would start a conversation over breakfast, choosing a topic that he knew both of his boyfriends were well-versed in, such as music or literature. Then, he’d open it for discussion, asking both of them for their opinions. 

This was innocent enough, but each time, Dipper would mysteriously remove himself from the conversation until it was just the two of them talking. 

One time, he tried this strategy while they were all in the giftshop. Wirt was restocking inventory on the shelves while Dipper was doing bookwork. Bill, of course, was lounging about. 

Dipper got him so invested in a heated discussion about foreign politics that he didn’t even notice when his boyfriend left the room and it was only he and Bill talking for a good ten minutes. 

\-----

“Heads up, Music Note!” 

Wirt’s head shot up at the warning and the alarm that usually came when Bill showed up unexpectedly, just in time to catch the package that the demon had tossed at him across the counter of the Mystery Shack’s gift shop. 

He fumbled with it and just barely managed to secure his hold on it without dropping it, frowning at the brown paper and red twine wrapped around it before glancing up at Bill. Dipper was nowhere to be seen- off on a tour- and the demon’s face held a mischievous grin that gave Wirt a bad feeling in his stomach. 

“What is this?” he asked, looking back down at it and running his hands over the packaging. 

“Open it,” Bill said, nodding. 

He gave the blonde another suspicious glance before setting the package on the counter and, very slowly, pulling the twine undone. He slid his thumb under the tape to carefully pull the paper away, revealing that it was a book. 

He had it upside-down when he got the paper off, so he flipped it over, eyebrows knitting at the cover. “ _The Bell Jar_?” he asked, eyes shooting up to look at Bill. It was one of his favorite novels, and something he enjoyed even more than Plath’s poetry, but he already had a copy on his shelf at home. 

To his confusion, Bill just rolled his eyes at Wirt’s reaction. “Look at the cover,” he stressed. 

Wirt’s eyes flitted back down, scanning it and widening when he noticed how it was different from all of the other copies of the novel he’d ever seen. 

“Victoria Lucas,” he breathed, reading the author’s name. Plath’s pseudonym that she’d had the novel published under because she hadn’t wanted her mother to know that she wrote the book. When he looked at Bill before quickly bringing his gaze back down to the book as he ran his fingers over the author’s name, the demon had a smug smirk on his face. “But- but the book has been published under her actual named since ‘67! It’s nearly impossible to find a copy with her pseudonym!” He was sure that his eyes were comically wide, but he didn’t care. He wanted nothing more than to clutch the book tightly to his chest, but it was old and rare and valuable. 

Bill seemed pleased with Wirt’s reaction, but shrugged it off nonchalantly. “Eh, it’s one of the first printed. I was doing some housekeeping in my realm and found it floating around. Forgot I had it. Figured you’d probably have more use for it than I do.” 

“You just- I can’t believe you- one of the first _printed_?!” He was still staring at the book, continuously running his fingertips over the cover. He wondered if he should hug Bill. If he could hug Bill. 

He decided against it, but the desire still loomed over him long after he finished thanking Bill and the demon wandered off to find Dipper. 

\-----

The more that Wirt found himself liking Bill, the more he hated himself for it. 

It had started as companionship. Ever since Bill had pointed out that his love for Dipper was greater than his fear for the Unknown, an oddly inspirational concept, he’d held hope that maybe he and Bill would actually be able to get along. 

But Dipper’s plan was working too well. He and Bill had much more in common than he’d initially thought, and even if Bill was the complete opposite of him when it came to personality, they had very similar interests and that was impossible to deny. 

And when Bill wasn’t making a complete ass out of himself and/or making animal viscera appear suddenly in the middle of the living room just for the hell of it, Wirt enjoyed spending time in his company. 

Perhaps a bit too much. 

Plus, there was the whole situation with the book. Oh, god, the book. Bill had found a first-edition copy of one of his favorite novels, a variation nearly impossible to find without spending copious amounts of money on Ebay, and brushed it off as if it was nothing. Wirt didn’t even know _why_ Bill had thought to do a nice thing without wanting anything in return! The last time he’d checked, demons didn’t just do kind things for no reason. 

He wanted to bring it up to Dipper, but he was afraid that the other would be all-too-pleased with the situation.

He didn’t want to admit that he was developing a bit of a crush on Bill. He couldn’t. This was a demon! And his boyfriend’s boyfriend!

… Okay, sure, that latter part would sort of mean that it would be even easier for he and Bill to be a thing if Bill happened to return his affections, but still! They’d have to completely renegotiate the circumstances of their relationship. 

But Wirt couldn’t even think about that. It wasn’t a possibility. It wasn’t. 

Across the clearing they’d found in the woods to wait in while Dipper studied some sort of sentient moss, Bill smiled at him. Wirt’s heart sped up as he returned the gesture. 

… It wasn’t, right?

\-----

Wirt was drowning. 

It wasn’t new. Ten years of the same nightmare had prepared him for this, but it never got any easier. He still panicked and tried to breathe when he was rapidly pulled deeper into the lake, to no avail.

He looked around himself as he was pulled down, looking for his brother, for their frog. Neither of them were present. Sometimes they were, Greg’s face a pale blue as he drowned along with Wirt. Sometimes, he was alone. 

He didn’t know which was worse. 

When he reached the part of the nightmare when the Beast loomed over him, this decision became even harder. On one hand, he was glad that Greg wasn’t there, having to endure (and witness) this torture as pieces of branches split and pierced his throat. On the other, a part of his subconscious knew that Greg wasn’t there because Wirt had been too late to save him. 

The most terrifying part of the dream was how realistic it was. Had Wirt been just a few minutes longer in finding his brother, they never would have made it out of the Unknown. This would have been his fate. Their fate. 

Tonight’s dream changed when the Beast began to talk. 

“ _You can still save him, Wirt,_ ,” the creature drawled as the first bits of branch began to press sharply into his skin. 

The part of Wirt that vaguely recognized that this was only a dream frowned, as this wasn’t usually what went down. He’d never had a chance to save Greg before. 

“ _How_?” he challenged, voice strained through the pressure of the branches against his throat. The words weren’t his own. He was saying them, but he had no control over them. This was a dream. 

It was a dream, and yet it felt so real. 

“ _Give me Dipper Pines in exchange for your brother,_ the Beast said, leaning back. The branches didn’t disappear, instead pressing further in. Wirt felt the first bit of blood well up at the surface. 

There was a shock as suddenly Dipper was there, just a few feet away, struggling against branches of his own. His skin was deathly pale, the normal bags under his eyes appearing blue from the frostbite. He was yelling something but Wirt couldn’t hear him over the roaring in his own ears. His eyes were terrified, pleading- a look that Wirt had never seen on him and never wanted to again. 

He looked at the Beast, the subject of ten years of nightmares. _No!_ his mind screamed. _Never! I’d give you myself before I give you either of them!_

But this was a dream. He wasn’t in control of his own speech. 

“ _Okay_ ,” his dream-self said softly, resigned. He looked at Dipper just in time to see the look of betrayal and hate on his face before a tree branch pierced his chest. 

For the first time in the dream, the haziness left Wirt’s head and he felt much more conscious. A sob ripped through his throat as he tore his eyes away from his boyfriend’s crumpled form, tears clouding his vision as he glared at the Beast, who only cackled, the sound echoing off the trees. 

“ _You’re a monster_ ,” he sobbed, the words finally his own. 

The Beast only laughed harder. “ _I’m not a monster, Wirt,_ ” he chuckled. “ _You are_.”

He woke up with a scream.

\-----

Wirt hadn’t slept in three days, and he was doing slightly less than okay. 

He was relieved that he’d been sleeping in his own apartment the night that he’d had the nightmare, but that also meant that Dipper expected him to sleep over the following night. Which he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell him about the nightmare; he couldn’t tell him that he’d sold out his life in exchange for his brother’s, even if it wasn’t his own choice. He wasn’t exactly sure about dream logistics, but Dipper was, and what if he thought that meant that that was what Wirt subconsciously would actually do?

So he couldn’t stay over at the Shack. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even close his eyes for more than a few seconds before the darkness behind his eyelids was replaced by an image of Dipper, petrified as a sharp branch impaled him, sticking out of his chest as blood pooled on his flannel. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but the lack of sleep was affecting him. He was much more irritable than usual, and once his shift at the Shack was over each day, he was quick to leave, not letting himself focus too long on the hurt look his departure left on Dipper’s face. 

Alone in his own apartment, he’d fill the silence with a calming classical playlist as he tried to sit down and write. In the first two days, he’d filled nearly an entire notebook with lines of poetry that sounded more fitting as lyrics of an emo song than they did as something to go in his poetry book.

He suddenly understood what Bill had said about Plath, about how writers didn’t get that dark and fucked up without something supernatural happening to them. It’d been ten years, and he was still held under the Beast’s influence. 

When it had officially passed seventy-two hours since Wirt had slept, he snapped for the first time. He was working in the Shack’s gift shop, the morning shift this time before one of the teenage part-timers would take over in the afternoon. 

Dipper was trying to cheer him up, having seen the tired, dead look in his eyes. The shop was empty for the moment- it was still early in the day, and the first tour wasn’t for another half hour- so he hung behind the counter with Wirt, poking at his cheek and smiling. 

“What’s got you down?” he asked, leaning back against the counter. Wirt shifted agitatedly, wishing he could put more space between them. He didn’t trust himself to touch Dipper. Not after the dream.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” His lie didn’t sound convincing even to himself, and Dipper’s smile wavered. 

“Come on, man. You can tell me what’s up. You know that, right?” He poked Wirt’s face, squishing his cheeks in a cheer-up tactic that Wirt was sure he’d learned from Mabel. 

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, sending Wirt into a bout of uncharacteristic annoyance. “I’m _fine_!” he snapped. He stepped away, moving back from Dipper’s touch, and a wave of dizziness chose that bad moment to wash over him. His vision went black and spotty, his legs going numb and knees buckling, and he would have hit the floor if not for Dipper’s quick reflexes as the other man moved to catch him. 

Wirt slumped against his boyfriend, head dropping to his shoulder. He let his eyes slip closed, head roaring. Tears stung at his eyes from his exhaustion, every fiber of his being begging him to succumb to it and sleep. 

“Babe, holy shit,” Dipper swore, hands gripping tightly at his waist, trying to support his weight and struggling to with the height difference. “Are you okay? Oh my god. Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Y… yeah. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. “Just tired, is all. I’m fine.” His head was still spinning, but he thought he’d be fine so long as he didn’t move too quickly, so he pulled back, standing on his own. He offered Dipper a smile that he was sure didn’t fool him for a moment. 

“You need to lay down. Come on.” Dipper secured one arm around his waist and started tugging him towards the ‘Employees Only’ door. 

“Wait, no, I… I have to work,” he protested weakly. His words were significantly more slurred than they had been a minute before. It was getting difficult to think straight. 

“I’ll call Mabel to run the shop while I do the tours,” Dipper brushed him off. He led Wirt down a hallway in the house, bypassing the stairs and choosing a door to a scarcely-used room that Wirt had only seen a few times. It used to be Ford’s room, Dipper had told him, and it used to house a magic carpet. Now, it just had a futon pushed up against the wall by the window and a few pieces of scattered furniture. 

Dipper led him to the futon, pushing him until he sat down on the edge. Leaning back against it led to a sensation of exhausted relief washing over him as his body finally got the slightest bit of rest. His boyfriend, meanwhile, was grabbing a throw blanket from the back of the futon and shaking it out, presumably to clear out any dust that it might have collected from lack of use. 

He dropped it haphazardly onto Wirt’s lap before pushing Wirt’s hair back and planting a rough kiss against his forehead. He kept his face close for a moment, locking eyes with Wirt as he shortly ordered, “Rest.” 

That was all he got from the other before he was heading for the door, shooting another concerned glance towards Wirt as he closed it behind him. 

Wirt let his head fall back for a moment, allowing his sensations to take over and his eyes to close. When he opened them a few seconds later, Bill was standing there. 

Wirt jumped, as he always did when Bill soundlessly appeared in rooms out of nowhere. The demon’s arms were crossed over his chest, an unimpressed look on his face as he eyed Wirt up. 

“This is _not good_ , Music Note,” he _tsk_ ed, though his tone didn’t match his words. “Not good at all.” 

“What do you _want_ , Bill?” he hissed, fighting the urge to raise his voice so as to not alert Dipper. He couldn’t do this right now. He didn’t have the strength to deal with Bill’s antics. 

Bill’s eyebrows shot up in obvious surprised, shocked by Wirt’s abrasiveness. He strolled forward until he was close enough to reach out and lightly grip Wirt’s chin, tilting the poet’s head up. Wirt fought to pull back in alarm until he realized that Bill was just looking at his eyes, checking for the obvious signs of exhaustion. 

“Snippy today, aren’t we?” Bill commented casually, a smile in his voice but not on his face. 

For some reason, this only set Wirt off even more, and he was on his feet in a second, knocking Bill back as a result of their closeness. Bill’s hand dropped from Wirt’s face, instead coming up in a defensive position in front of his chest as he prepared to push the brunette back if needed. 

His tiredness must have led him to be bolder than usual, because he didn’t hesitate to get in Bill’s face. “What do you _want_?” he asked again, practically growling it out. 

Bill scowled. As much as he tried to provoke Wirt, even after they’d grown closer lately, he didn’t seem to like it when the object of his teasing suddenly pushed back. “I told you months ago that I wouldn’t let you become a threat to Pine Tree because of your nightmares.”

Wirt wasn’t sure exactly where the words were coming from, but he quickly snapped, “Why do you care? _You’re_ a threat to him all the time!”

Whatever Bill was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that, as a look of pure shock came over his features before it was replaced with a look of rage. He was still close enough that Wirt could feel the heat radiating off of him, and Wirt’s eyes locked on clearly sharp teeth as Bill hissed, “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean, kid?”

While Wirt had long since given up his suspicions of the demon, his exhaustion was driving them back to the surface. He must have had a subconscious death wish, or something, for he yelled back, “You- I know you don’t actually care about Dipper! You’re- you’re just using him for something! That’s all you ever do!” 

Bill socked him in the face. He wasn’t expecting it and that was probably the worst part- he was sure that Bill could have hit him much harder than he did- and the futon behind him was the only thing that kept him from falling on his ass. Instead, the piece of furniture dug into his calves, and it grounded him enough for him to steady himself. 

“Don’t you _ever_ say that,” Bill snarled, eyes going red and staying like that. “Pine Tree is _everything_ to me. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Wirt was panting, head suddenly clearing as adrenaline took over. Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, his fist was flying towards Bill. 

For some reason, he didn’t expect that the demon would let him get the hit in. He could surely see it coming, and his supernatural reflexes were surely quick enough to dodge a hit from a sleep-deprived man who had never thrown a punch in his life. But his fist collided with Bill’s chin hard enough to send the demon stumbling back a few feet, and Wirt followed him. 

His fists gripped the collar of Bill’s shirt and slammed him against the wall, and he felt a bit bad when Bill’s head fell back against it with a sickening crack. The demon appeared entirely unaffected, though, as he glared at Wirt with crimson eyes and lip drawn back in a snarl. 

Time seemed to freeze as Wirt realized that he had practically pinned a demon to a wall- though he was sure that Bill could easily push him away. Both of their breathing came in heaving pants as their eyes locked, too intense for Wirt to look away. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was his sleep-deprived state, but neither could excuse Wirt’s next action. He slammed his lips against Bill’s in a move that was neither planned nor neatly-executed, hurting much more than a first kiss should. Than any kiss should. 

There was only a split second in which Bill seemed too shocked to react before he kissed him back, going more pliant under Wirt’s hands than he ever would have expected. Bill’s hands finally came up as well, landing on the poet’s hips with an iron grip that Wirt half expected to leave bruises. 

The kiss, if it could even really be called that with how forced and sloppy it was, only lasted a few seconds before Wirt lowered his hands to the demon’s chest, dropping his head onto Bill’s shoulder. “Holy shit,” he breathed. 

“Yeah,” Bill agreed. 

A wave of emotions flooded through him as the exhaustion returned tenfold. He went limp against Bill, trusting that the demon’s strong grip on him wouldn’t let him fall. He was right; Bill merely adjusted his hold to better support him. 

“Come on, Music Note,” he murmured, uncharacteristically tender, “you need to sleep.” 

Wirt made a soft sound of protest, but didn’t fight as Bill led him back towards the futon. Bill sat down first, pressed up towards one end of it before gesturing for Wirt to lay down. 

Wirt hesitated, but it was hard to argue when Bill’s stare, eyes returned to their normal gold, burned into him. He toed off his shoes and laid down, only pausing for a second before dropping his head into Bill’s lap when the demon motioned for him to do so. 

A hand landed in Wirt’s hair, carding through his messy locks, and a wave of sleepiness washed over him with the distinct tingly feeling of magic accompanying it. He didn’t need to ask; he could feel Bill’s unspoken promise to make sure he didn’t have nightmares. 

“Get some rest, Wirt,” the demon said quietly, voice becoming background noise to the static that was quickly enveloping Wirt’s head. “We’ll talk about this later.” Sleep came quickly.

He didn’t dream.

\-----

They did talk about it later. They had an extensive conversation about it in a room with Dipper, who looked like he couldn’t hold back the smile threatening to split his face. 

He had planned this, and they knew it. Bill was too stubborn to admit that Dipper’s horribly awkward attempt at matchmaking had worked and just claimed that he had anticipated this happening from the very beginning. 

“Really?” Wirt asked, lips curling into a frown. Lips that were red and kiss-swollen, and from multiple people. Holy shit. 

“I’m omnipotent,” Bill scoffed. “Of course.” 

Dipper mouthed, ‘He’s lying,’ to him over the demon’s shoulder, and Wirt smiled. Bill noticed and shot the twenty-four-year old an annoyed look, and Dipper quelled it by pecking him gently on the lips. 

Wirt stifled a happy laugh. His dumb boyfriends. 

His eyes widened at the thought. His _boyfriends_ , plural. Because Bill was his boyfriend now, too. He was dating a demon. 

That thought probably should have scared him more than it did. Instead, as he leaned forward to meet Bill’s lips, he felt himself at home for the first time in ten years.


End file.
